


A Part of Life

by SpraceJunkie



Category: Newsies - All Media Types
Genre: Davey is polish, Gen, Hanukkah, Jack is hispanic and jewish and you can Fight Me, also Jack is high key like very depressed and anxious in this one, and doesn't really know it? but he is, he misses his family a lot, i love these boys and Jack just wants his family back, this is pre javid but pretty heavily hinted that that's endgame i think so that's that
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-31
Updated: 2018-12-31
Packaged: 2019-10-01 05:47:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,614
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17238539
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SpraceJunkie/pseuds/SpraceJunkie
Summary: Pain was something that came with the “poor kid on the streets of New York” gig.Pain, dirt, holes in shoes and clothes, hunger pangs, that came with it.All that came right along with living day to day on a couple dimes a week. Fights were unavoidable when you were in charge of a group of kids, or even if you weren’t, really, and when the choice was between new shoes, lunch, or a place to sleep out of the rain or snow, well, medicine cost more than going hungry a few days. There was one right choice and two wrongs ones there, for the most part.





	A Part of Life

Pain was something that came with the “poor kid on the streets of New York” gig.

Pain, dirt, holes in shoes and clothes, hunger pangs, that came with it.

All that came right along with living day to day on a couple dimes a week. Fights were unavoidable when you were in charge of a group of kids, or even if you weren’t, really, and when the choice was between new shoes, lunch, or a place to sleep out of the rain or snow, well, medicine cost more than going hungry a few days. There was one right choice and two wrongs ones there, for the most part.

Jack was used to all that. He had as many bruises and scars as anyone else, and had been through hell and back more than once, he knew pain. It was a constant, from an ache in his back from carrying a hundred fifty papes all day to a swollen eye to the random imagine pain coming from old scars that had no reason to hurt anymore. He was used to blisters from burning hot pavement that his flimsy shoes couldn’t protect against, used to going hungry for a couple weeks if it meant helping a younger boy eat or getting medicine when somebody was sick.

It was part of life. He was a poor kid living on filthy streets, and pain and hunger were a part of life. Always had been, always would be. There was no escaping it.

So most types of pain, he was used to. He could ignore it, work through it, pretend it wasn’t there. In fact, all types of pain, almost all of the time, he was numb to.

Sometimes, though, something broke through that numbness. Physically, a broken rib made everything hurt for weeks. Hurt to breath, hurt to move, hurt lie down or sit up or stand, everything hurt when one of his ribs was broken, but he had to press through it because even three days of not selling would mean three weeks of not eating, and he couldn’t afford that.

It took a lot for physical pain to break through and really affect him, though.

And mentally, he was even stronger. He knew how important it was for a leader to not be affected by anything. He couldn’t afford to have a bad day when he had littles to motivate and a borough to run. His job was to keep a smile or at least determination plastered across his face. He couldn’t crack when he’d been kept up all night by nightmares of rats and beatings and screaming, not when he woke up early to memories of promised sunrises he never got with his Mamá and Papá, not when anything. He was the leader, he was Jack goddamn Kelly, and he had to keep that face on, because if he didn’t, who would?

It had been a long time, a long, long time, since he’d needed to run to the roof to cry by himself. Not counting the strike, when everyone was breaking down and he wasn’t an exception, and anyone would have cracked with what he knew and what he’d seen and the threats he’d heard. No, he didn’t count the strike at all, so it had been a long, long time.

And yet.

Here he was, feeling very much like the rudest houseguest to ever visit anyone, run away out the window with tears pressing behind his eyes because something had been too much.

It was cold out, five months after the strike in December. The New York winter was gray and wet and muddy and snowy, and he could feel the slush soaking through his pants and knew he’d regret sitting down later, but he also felt like he needed to sit with his head between his knees and focus on breathing, just breathing.

It was the candles. Candles burning, nine of them, four in an even row, then one slightly taller, then four more even ones, lighting the dim, cramped apartment. And the family, standing around them, reciting words Jack still knew by heart after all the years of not saying them, before lighting them.

That punched right through any kind of emotional shield he’d had up for so long.

When Davey had invited him for the eighth night of Hanukkah, he’d said yes without even thinking about it. He didn’t remember ever having any kind of real emotional attachment to the holiday when he was little, and he liked spending time around Davey. Around the whole Jacobs family. 

But seeing a whole, unbroken, perfect looking family celebrating a holiday he hadn’t gotten celebrate since he was younger than Les hurt.

Almost physically. Almost like he’d been punched in the stomach by a reminder of everything he used to have and didn’t anymore.

And he’d been standing behind them, not really wanting to insert himself into their intimate little circle, and then he really, really needed to get away, so he’d climbed out the window and up to the roof.

Maybe the cold would numb him again. Maybe the cold, wet, dirty slush would erase the memories that were hurting so bad and he’d slip back into his numb mask and be able to go back inside and sit and talk and laugh with the Jacobs family and everything would go back to normal and he could pretend it had been a long, long time since he’d let his emotions hurt him so bad and he could walk back to the Lodging House whistling with his permanent half grin plastered on and go to sleep and everything would be _normal_ again.

“Jack?”

He didn’t look up when he heard Davey’s voice. Not when he could feel tears on his face and could feel them practically freezing on his face and his nose was running. 

He didn’t want Davey to see that.

“Jack, are you okay?” 

He heard Davey pick his way through the slush on the rooftop to stand next to him, but he still didn’t lift his face or try to talk. He knew his voice would sound broken and he was a _leader_.

He couldn’t _be_ broken, he _had_ to be strong and stoic and brave and perfect. He couldn’t be anything but.

He felt something get draped around his shoulders, not quite covering his head but almost, and it cut the cold. A blanket. Davey brought him a blanket because he knew Jack didn’t have a coat anymore, because he’d given his to Specs because Specs got sick easily, and anyway, boys, his shirt stuffed with old newspapers kept him plenty warm if he moved around enough. So Davey brought a blanket to the roof to keep him warm and somehow that made Jack cry harder.

He knew his shoulders were shaking, he knew how obvious it had to be that he was crying, and he couldn’t help it. He could feel his carefully built, carefully maintained mask cracking and breaking and slipping away and he couldn’t hold on to even a little bit of it.

“Jack…” Davey sat down next to him, wrapped his arms around Jack’s shoulders and pulled him into a tight hug.

That was enough to pull away every last bit of that mask. Jack turned into his hug, pressing his face in Davey’s shoulder and crying.

For the first time in a long, long time, Jack cried for a long, long time, wrapped in a blanket and crying into Davey’s shoulder, until he’d cried for so long he felt like he didn’t have any more tears left in him at all, and he was just pressing his face into Davey’s shoulder so e didn’t have to look at him.

Leaders don’t cry, leaders don’t break down, leaders don’t run away, leaders don’t leaders don’t leaders don’t leaders don’t leaders don’t-

“Jacky, do you need to talk this out?” Davey asked quietly rubbing small, soft, comforting circles into Jack’s shoulders.

“I miss my family,” Jack whispered, not lifting his face, closing his eyes like that would help the stomachache he had.

“What?”

“I miss my family,” he said, louder. “I miss my Mamá and my Papá and I miss celebrating holidays and I miss going to services and I miss my family, Davey, I miss having a family.”

A bruise faded, a broken nose stopped bleeding, a swollen eye healed.

He’d never stop missing his family. Never. That pain would never go away, there was nothing anyone could say or do to make it go away, and that he would never get used to, even when he pushed it away and made himself ignore it.

“I’m sorry, Jack,” Davey tightened his hug and Jack scooted closer, just wanting to be closer, pressed closer, because somehow that did make it hurt just a little bit less. “I’m so, so sorry, Jacky, I...I shouldn’t have-”

“I wanted to come, Davey, I wanted to...to be a part of this again. I...I missed all of it, I do miss all of it, and I was so, so excited when you invited me, it’s just...just that...all of you were together and I _miss_ that. I miss it, Davey, I want my Papá back, I want to live in an apartment and have Hanukkah with my family and not just watch yours.”

Davey shifted how he was sitting, making it harder for Jack to hide his face but easier for them to sit side by side, shoulders pressed together and Davey’s arm pulling Jack as tightly as he could against him.

It had also been a long, long time since Jack felt comfortable enough with anyone other than Crutchie or maybe Race to sit pressed so close in silence, and a long, long, long time since he’d let anyone see his face so tear-stained and tear-swollen.

He hid that from everyone. Nobody got to see that, nobody.

Except for Davey, apparently, he was getting to see all sorts of things Jack hadn’t let anyone see in a long, long, long time.

“You don’t have to just watch, Jacky, you...you can be a part of things with us,” Davey said quietly. “We want you to be, Jacky, all of us.”

“It’s not the same,” Jack said. “I want it to be, but it’s not.”

“I know. I know, Jacky.”

“I just miss them,” Jack whispered again, suddenly just so completely, entirely, utterly exhausted.

Letting go of the mask and numbness he’d been holding together for so long wiped him out. He didn’t even want to do anything other than lean against Davey and close his eyes and sleep.

“Jack, you’re shivering. We should go inside.”

“I don’t want to.”

“You’ll get sick, Jacky.”

Jack shook his head and pulled the blanket tighter around himself.

“I won’t. I want to be outside,” He insisted.

Davey sighed, and Jack knew he knew him too well. Anyone who knew him well enough knew exactly why he wanted to be outside, exactly how he thought, exactly how numb he wanted to be. He didn’t have to tell Crutchie or Race or Davey how the cold made him forget everything else, he never had, but he could tell by the way they looked at him and the way Davey just sighed that they knew.

“Please come inside, Jacky. Stay over, even, just don’t sit out here all night. It’s cold, and you’re all wet, please?” Davey stood up and tugged one of Jack’s hands out from under the blanket and pulled him to his feet. “Stay over tonight.” He offered again, and Jack nodded, somewhat reluctantly but not really.

Davey pushed the window into the bedroom he shared with Sarah and Les up and gently pushed Jack towards the bed. He went back out into the main apartment and Jack heard him speaking quiet Polish with his parents and Sarah before he came back in and sat down next to Jack.

Les was already asleep, facing the wall, and Davey scooted himself into the middle of the bed, patting next to him for Jack to lie down.

“Are you okay, Jacky? For real.” Jack nodded silently and pulled the quilt covering the bed over him. “You know you’re allowed to not be okay, right? You don’t always have to be okay.”

“I am. Now. Better anyway.”

“Good,” Davey shimmied his own way under the quilt and reached out to pull Jack close to him again.

He hadn’t really realized how cold he was until he was under a thick warm blanket, pulled into Davey’s side, his head resting on Davey’s chest, slowly warming up from what must have been more than an hour sitting in the slush. His pants were still wet, he realized, he was probably getting the sheets dirty, but he was bone tired and didn’t want to move away from how he was positioned. He was warming up and tired and comfortable and empty.

Empty in the best way possible, like he’d cleared out something he’d been holding in for too long and now he didn’t have to anymore.

He’d never really told anyone how much he really missed his family. Crutchie kind of knew at least, but he’d never seen Jack break down like that, and that was why he felt so empty. He’d cried probably ten years worth of tears in one night. Ten years worth of tears for pain he’d never be used to, pain that he could push away but never get rid of.

Because pain was part of life, but most pain, other people could see. When he got into a fight, he could push away the pain of cuts and bruises and even broken bones because other people knew about them and other people could see them and other people knew what it felt like and so he could set an example on how to deal with that pain when you couldn’t afford to take a day off to heal.

But _that_ kind of pain, the kind that had knocked the wind out of him tonight? People couldn’t see that. People couldn’t look at him and see immediately how much it hurt to see a perfect family celebrating a holiday he hadn’t realized how much he missed having. People couldn’t see how much it hurt to lose people. And most of his boys had lost people. Jack had held most of them while they cried just like he just had, but he hadn’t cried like that in front of them because leaders don't cry, leaders don’t break down, leaders don’t leaders don’t leaders don’t leaders don’t leaders don’t-

“Jacky, go to sleep. It’s okay, it’s okay to not be okay, just breathe.”

So Jack did. He closed his eyes, screwed them shut tight and focused on breathing, focused on calming himself down before he spiraled again like he’d just started to. He screwed his eyes shut and breathed in tandem with Davey and made his body relax muscle by muscle.

It was okay to not be okay, it was okay to not be okay, it was okay to not be okay.

That’s what Davey said, and Davey was smarter than him, so it was okay to not be okay, and he could go to sleep not okay and wake up not okay and still be okay in the end and still be a good leader. It was okay.

He was okay.

Pain was a part of life and he could deal with that, as long as it was okay to not be okay all the time, to break down and cry and need to press close, he could deal with that pain.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm Asper and it's almost three am and I wrote this in one sitting please leave a comment and validate me I cried while writing this and I'm Very Sleepy oof.
> 
> Come chat on Tumblr it's a good gay time @enby-crutchie!


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